


Fruit

by Senket



Series: House Dynamics [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-09
Updated: 2011-05-09
Packaged: 2017-11-16 14:19:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/540365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Senket/pseuds/Senket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lestrade finally gets with the program. It turns out it might've been Mycroft that was stupid about the whole thing in the first place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fruit

"Why are you reading that?"

"Because I'm bored out of my mind, Mycroft." Greg, splayed on his back in the middle of the Room of Requirement, put the muggle girl’s magazine down on his chest, peering upside-down at his friend. "Why can't we do something interesting for a while? Take the passage to Honeydukes. Anything."

The room was of Mycroft's making, obviously. High vaulted ceilings, streams of golden light coming in through the tall windows (and draping themselves all over Greg, lanky and tan from Quidditch,) shelves of old tomes stretching up and up, floating ladders darting about them, plush armchairs to luxuriate in and plush carpets for Greg to stretch himself across, roll around on when he got bored and restless. Mycroft darted a glance to the small cauldron bubbling in the fire, smiling faintly as he turned his attention back to the Gryffindor. "If the drought boils over while we're cavorting through the woods or some such, you'll have to make it all on your own next time."

Greg groaned, rolling over onto his stomach to push his face into the carpet, making a soft, pathetic whine. After a moment he sat up again, pouting rather magnificently. “But it’s not even for class.”

“While that’s true, I am not the one who needs it; you are.”

Heaving a great, resigned sigh, Greg went back to the girl’s magazine, flipping idly through pages of things he had interest in reading only for incredulity’s sake. Mycroft was momentarily distracted by the (cute) expression on Greg’s face as the young man cocked his head to the side, white teeth nibbling his lower lip. Only after a moment did he notice the other boy had stilled. He glanced down at the page that had so attracted Greg’s attention- immediately frowned disdainfully at it. It was an advertisement, and he wasn’t even sure for what, but it was two pages of a too-skinny girl getting a piggy-back ride from a gorgeous, muscled young man that looked nothing like Mycroft but an awful lot like the pretty prat he’d had sent to India last year.

“He’s quite fit, isn’t he?” Mycroft missed the glance Greg threw him, glaring down at his book as though he intended to make it catch fire with wandless, wordless magic. They sat in silence, Greg gazing at him for a few moments before flipping idly through glossy pages again, staring down at it without seeing, thinking.

Mycroft had just about relaxed again when Greg glanced up at him with a tepid expression. “Mycroft.”

“Yes Gregory?”

“How long have you known you were gay?”

Mycroft paused, darting a nervous (almost hopeful) glance at the adolescent stretched out by his feet. He felt himself flush as he tightened his fingers against his book, willing down his heartbeat. “The spring before I turned fifteen.”

"...Mycroft."

"Mmm?"

Plucking the tome out of Mycroft’s lap, Lestrade tossed it behind him somewhere haphazardly; he curled his fingers around the back of Mycroft's neck and dragged him down to the floor. Mycroft was pinned before he had time to protest, words stilled by the thoughtful frown furrowing Greg's normally clear brow. "You're a complete moron sometimes, you know that?"

"That's quite rude."

Greg snorted and swooped down.

Their first kiss was quite clumsy- Greg hadn't really kissed anyone since Beatrice and Mycroft had never kissed anyone at all- but Greg held the younger boy still and realigned. Later Mycroft would swear that he had felt stars explode, but only in the privacy of his own bedroom, entwined with his lover in the dead of night, years later. At the moment he didn’t think much more than ‘Greg. Merlin, _Greg_.’


End file.
